


prayers

by MadHatterNO7



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Depression, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Soft Boyfriends Being Soft, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-30
Updated: 2017-07-30
Packaged: 2018-12-08 11:33:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11645709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadHatterNO7/pseuds/MadHatterNO7
Summary: To put it simply, it's like this.Nicky doesn't want Erik to fix him. Erik doesn't think Nicky is broken.





	prayers

**Author's Note:**

> Started writing this late last year, and it's finally done. All I've learnt is that I'm not suited to writing long fics.
> 
>  
> 
> **Major trigger warning for detailed description of mental breakdowns and panic attacks. Please take the tags seriously.**
> 
>  
> 
> A big thank you to my friends who had to go through all my complaints during the process of writing this, and to [Cielle](http://cielleinthazure.tumblr.com), who created beautiful drawings for this fic. You can find it [here](http://cielleinthazure.tumblr.com/post/163592237153/all-for-the-game-big-bang-aftgbigbang-part).
> 
> All mistakes are mine.

 

Nicky has always thought his parents’ touch would linger on his skin long after they have touched him. The warmth of their palms pressed against his own, on the back of his neck, the top of his head.

 

It doesn’t.

 

And Nicky is numb enough to not feel the guilt that’s always pooling inside his stomach, to not feel it rise to the back of his throat when he shrugs his father’s hand off his shoulder, and barely smiles at his mother wishing him a safe trip.

 

It’s not like he hasn’t already disappointed them anyway.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The first time it happens, it was an accident. Nicky is back in the room again, ears ringing with prayers and mouth numb from repeating them. It’s quiet, and Nicky bites his fists to muffle his sobs. He falls asleep with a dry throat and with cotton in his head, and wakes up with bite marks all over his arm and another pounding headache. He gets out of bed and only makes sure to wear the long sleeve that’s long enough to hide his fingertips that day.

 

 

* * *

 

 

On the plane he’s sitting next to a bundle of nerves, the person next to him bouncing his leg up and down as he lifts the tray table back up after the nice flight attendant with pretty lips shoots him a smile, a _sir, would you please…? Thank you for your cooperation._ Nicky is tempted to tap him on the shoulder and tell him to stop, but his limbs are heavy and there’s a deep ache in his chest that’s pressing against his vocal cords, and there’s not much motivation for him to speak at all.

 

He closes his eyes instead, resting his head against the airline issued pillow. His earphones are still in his ears, but with his phone turned off, the familiarity of silence bleeds into strangeness – something he hasn’t heard before – and it’s playing in his ear.

 

The boy takes the armrest in between them, clutching it until his knuckles turn white. It’s something Nicky doesn’t mind because there’s enough in him that understands the anxiety people go through when the plane is about to take off, bringing them thousands of feet above the ground.

 

The mint he put in his mouth earlier is gradually dissolving as the plane lifts itself up, higher and higher until everything Nicky has ever known becomes distant, merely a small speck of this universe.

 

Nicky pulls the blanket over himself, only slightly aware that it’s long enough that it brushes the floor as he adjusts it. He presses the side of his face against his uncomfortably small pillow again, and it doesn’t take very long for him to fall into a deep sleep.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The second time it happens, it was also somewhat an accident. Nicky wakes up late in the morning and grabs two slices of toast from the dining table and rushes out the door. He’s always had a small appetite in the morning and when he tries to eat it on the way to school, Nicky gags and nearly heaves up whatever that’s left in his stomach. He doesn’t find the urge to eat at all after that, and eventually skips lunch to catch up on the homework he didn’t do. He only realises he hasn’t eaten anything by the time he gets home, and even then, he doesn’t feel hungry.

 

 

* * *

 

 

He wakes up to the low hum of the plane and the footsteps of the flight attendants rolling their carts. The smell of airplane food doesn’t make the situation any easier, and he tries not to focus on the sound of the boy next to him retching at the smell.

 

Nicky gets something anyway, when the flight attendant gives him a choice between chicken and beef. The meal is wrapped with foil, Nicky notices, and he’s glad because he can’t smell anything from it even at the close proximity. He nibbles on the cooling bread roll on the side and eyes the jelly that’s meant to be dessert.

 

The shades at his seat are still up, and he watches the clouds swim at the bottom of the sky, sinking, the only indication that they’re even moving in the sky. He pulls the shades down, and blinks, a fair few times, to get used to the lighting in the cabin again. He exhales, a slight sigh but not enough to be one. The day’s so bright it leaves him wishing for darkness.

 

Even with the shades down, the lights dimmed, he could still tell it was day time, and Nicky goes back to sleep because that’s when absolute darkness takes over.

 

He takes comfort in the thought of that.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The third time it happens, it wasn’t an accident. The thoughts are _there_ , whispering and shouting in his head, in voices that sound too much like his own. He digs his nail into his skin just to tell his brain to focus on the pain instead. It works, but the little crescents on his thighs and knees takes another two and a half weeks to heal, and the scar takes even longer to fade.

 

 

* * *

 

 

He arrives in Germany in the late summer, not soon after falling asleep, drifting in and out of consciousness, in and out of pain, in and out of dreamless dreams. He adjusts his backpack on his shoulder as he goes through customs, and follows the rest of the crowd to the baggage collect area, where he locates his bright yellow suitcase almost immediately. It feels heavy in his hands, physically and metaphorically, the things that are actually in it and the wave of anxiety that’s beginning to weigh down on him.

 

It has taken Nicky almost all of himself to apply for this exchange program, the lies he told his parents leaving a bitter aftertaste in his mouth, about how this is to prepare for his future, how this is going to be a valuable once-in-a-lifetime experience. He says nothing about how he thinks he won’t be able to have a future at all, with the way he’s feeling. He says nothing about how he feels numb and uncomfortable in his own skin, how the sound of his parents’ _this is for your own good_ and _we love you so much_ grates on his nerves so much it drowns him, someone dragging him back down into the water again after struggling to swim up to the surface.

 

Nicky drags his suitcase along and checks the time, and everything happens within seconds. He spots his name on one of the signs held up by a boy around his age, and he barely manages to smile when he waves at him.

 

“Nicholas?” He asks, and offers to take his suitcase.

 

“Nicky is fine,” he nods at his name, but he carefully declines the offer. “Erik, right?”

 

“Yeah,” Erik smiles, and Nicky looks down, focusing on the almost pristine tiles of the airport instead of meeting Erik’s eye because this boy is laughing and he’s beautiful and he’s everything Nicky isn’t. “Come on, my parents are waiting for us outside in the car, they’ve been dying to meet you.”

 

Nicky answers an _okay, let’s go_ even though his stomach drops at the thought of meeting Erik’s parents, unknown adult figures who’s going to be in his life for the next twelve months, and he has nowhere to go if he wants to hide. He’s in a foreign country with unfamiliar streets with unfamiliar names, surrounded by people who speak a different first language to him.

 

If Erik picked up on his uneasiness, he didn’t say anything. He smiles and laughs and talks about how this is the first time his family is doing something like this and that he’s incredibly excited to have someone his age living in the house. Nicky’s grip on the sleeve of his hoodie loosens a little, and his smile doesn’t end up leaving his face.

 

Nicky meets Erik’s parents and he figures out where the brightness in Erik’s eyes come from. Nicky is pulled into a quick hug by the two adults, and he stutters out _no, really, it’s fine_ when he’s released almost immediately because they felt him stiffen up.

 

Nicky is quiet during the car ride, but he answers most of the questions they ask him. He tries his best, and he doesn’t miss the way they smile, almost _fondly_ , at the way he talks, broken German words stringed together to make something out of nothing. Erik’s father makes a dad joke, and Erik’s mother is too busy driving to slap her husband’s arm, so she groans and tells him to stop embarrassing himself in front of Nicky. Erik laughs at that, teaming up with his mother to chastise his father, and Nicky smiles along, teeth biting down on his upper lip. Looks down to his hands placed in his lap, and wonders why he can’t have this.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“How are you finding Germany?”

 

“I’ve just arrived, mum,” Nicky says, moving to sit on the edge of a newly made bed, temporarily abandoning his mission to unpack.

 

“Yes, but you know how you are,” she sighs on the other end, and Nicky can picture the look of disappointment she always wears when he’s around. “You always make me worry so much.”

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

“Your father and I have given you so much,” she says. “And look at you! Not even eighteen yet and so desperate to be away from us.”

 

“Mum!” Nicky laughs, fingers unknowingly gripping onto the hem of his already crumpled hoodie, and tries to brush it off as the joke it’s meant to be.

 

“We love you,” she finally concludes. “Remember to call us at least once a week, okay?”

 

“Yeah, okay. Sure. Love you too,” Nicky waits for her to hang up before dropping his phone back onto the bed.

 

A knock sounds at the door, and Erik’s head poke through when Nicky answers.

 

“I heard you on the phone so I waited until you hung up. My parents told me to bring these to you,” he gestures at the extra blankets and pillows he was carrying and Nicky can’t help but to wonder how he managed to knock while holding those. “They’re spares, and it’s summer right now, so if you don’t need them, you can just put them into that closet.”

 

“Sorry for the trouble,” Nicky makes a move to grab them but Erik just laughs and puts it on the bed for him. “Oh. Thank you.”

 

“You’re welcome,” he says as his gaze falls onto the things Nicky has already taken out of his bags. “Let us know if you need anything.”

 

“Okay,” Nicky nods, if not a little hesitant.

 

Erik shoots him another smile before leaving the guest room, and Nicky looks at his half unpacked suitcase, some clothes still neatly folded, stacked on top of each other. For some reason, he doesn’t feel like finishing the task anymore. Instead, he pushes his phone further away from him and sits back down onto the edge of the bed.

 

 

* * *

 

 

It doesn’t take long for Nicky to settle in with the family, filling up the spaces Erik hasn’t filled up yet. The guest room he’s staying in has been cleaned and decorated, and he tries to swallow down the knot that’s forming in his throat as he thinks about all the trouble that he’s made Erik and his family go through. All that, just to get Nicky to feel at home in a country almost eight thousand kilometres away from the place he lives with his parents.

 

 _Thank you_ , he says, but he doesn’t feel like it’s enough. He doesn’t feel enough.

 

He helps Erik’s father cook and helps Erik’s mother wash the dishes. He smiles at their praises, _such a sweet boy,_ revels in the validation while the voice inside his head tells him that they’re just being nice – they don’t mean it and you don’t deserve _any_ of this.

 

And he feels so, _so_ bad when they turn to Erik and jokes, _why can’t you be more like Nicky, Erik?_

Nicky’s smile becomes strained, but Erik isn’t Nicky, and he laughs. He leans into Nicky’s personal space, snakes an arm around Nicky’s waist, and says _I know right?_ like he’s actually proud of him, like he’s happy that Nicky is a better son than Erik, and Nicky fights the urge to cry.

 

“You’re part of our family now,” Erik whispers these words to him as they make their way back to their respective rooms, and it makes Nicky pause at his door, his hand hovering over the knob.

 

 _Family_. The word tastes like guilt and tears on his tongue, feels like phantom pain. Expectations. He’s at church again, praying. In the correction centre, words drilled into his mind. At dinner, glances that don’t meet the eyes, pregnant silences. Disappointing stares.

 

He nods, jerkily, rasps a _yeah, I know_ , and nearly slams the door behind him.

 

Erik’s family doesn’t go to church on Sunday mornings, doesn’t stop to pray and thank the Lord for their meals, and doesn’t call Nicky _Nicholas_.

 

The bed smells like fresh laundry and faintly of the detergent Erik’s family uses, and it’s soft on his skin. Nicky buries his face into the pillow and tries to crush the overwhelming thoughts that are aiming to break the pieces of him that haven’t been broken yet.

 

He pulls the covers up to his chin, breathes in, and then out. The only source of light is from the window, a muted mixture of artificial light and moonlight, and there’s a slight buzz of traffic outside, keeping him company. He closes his eyes.

 

Seeks salvation.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Nicky doesn’t remember the exact time and date when all of this came crashing down. His parents have been like this for almost his entire life, even before he came out and told them he might like boys more than he liked girls. He doesn’t know why it affects him so much now because nine-year-old Nicky would have just taken it as it is, and continued on with his life because _nothing was wrong_. He doesn’t know why fourteen-year-old Nicky keeps on finding harsh words remained unsaid in his parents’ actions and speech, with implications that may or may not exist.

 

Maybe he’s overanalysing the entire situation. Maybe.

 

 _Maybe_ sounds uncertain but Nicky is certain that he’s not worth anything and anyone’s time.

 

It’s been three and a half years and nothing has changed much since he realised that maybe there’s something wrong with him and the way he thinks. He still smiles and laughs and cracks jokes and it’s _fine_ because all of it is genuine and he’s not faking happiness and maybe nothing’s wrong after all –

 

Nicky is fine.

 

Fine.

 

And _fine_ feels so much like the truth, it has become a lie.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Erik takes Nicky out to show him the places that are always overflowing with tourists, most of them armed with cameras and maps in different languages. Nicky almost feels like one of them, seemingly out of place yet fitting in at the same time, and he might have been one of those tourists in another lifetime, if he didn’t make the impulsive decision to come here as an exchange student.

 

Erik also takes Nicky to the art museum because it seemed like a more sensible choice than a club or a basketball court or something, and he knows he made the right choice when he sees the look of joy and amazement on Nicky’s face. He also catches a small, nostalgic smile in the curve of his lips, and it feels like heartache.

 

They spend a long time there, with Nicky determined to read all the descriptions underneath the paintings and the works, waving Erik over whenever he finds something particularly deep or poetic, his voice getting all breathy with excitement. It’s something Erik finds endearing, because that’s kind of what he’s like when he’s at the bookshop or in the library.

 

Erik doesn’t take Nicky’s hand, but he shows him the places that he personally enjoys going to. It almost feels like a date, with the way Erik bringing him to his favourite cafe that likes to play trashy pop songs instead of classical or whatever music they usually play in cafes that are meant to be soothing and calming.

 

Nicky sits down by the window on one of the seats and melts a little into it, hugging their bags close to his chest. Erik has gone to order something, and he spends a little time looking around, appreciating the decorations and the design of the cafe, and the effort that the owner has put into this place.

 

He spots someone opening to a fresh page in their sketchbook, and he immediately looks away. It’s strange, in a sense, the way he feels voyeuristic just by looking at someone else creating art. Perhaps there is an intimacy in that action that Nicky doesn’t want to witness.

 

He should feel something blossom in his stomach – longing, jealousy, sadness, anything at all – but he doesn’t, and he bites his bottom lip until it bleeds.

 

Nicky doesn’t realise Erik’s back until he sits down in the chair opposite to him, the sound of the chair scraping against the floor a reminder.

 

“Sorry,” he says, loosening his hold on their bags and handing back Erik’s.

 

Erik blinks at him, slightly confused as to why Nicky is apologising. “It’s fine?”

 

“Sorry,” Nicky repeats, twisting his hands beneath the table, hugging his own bag closer.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Nicky is good at smiling and being happy. Laughter comes natural to him, and some days that’s the only thing he recognises in himself. His grades are always high, regardless of how many nights he’s spent crying instead of studying, regardless of how it takes him two hours instead of half an hour to do his homework because his concentration hasn’t been good ever since all of this happened.

 

That’s probably why none of the teachers nor his friends have questioned whether he was feeling okay. Never questioned whether he had depression or not because depression is characterised by someone feeling _sad all the time_.

 

Nicky doubt he even has depression most days.

 

 

* * *

 

 

It doesn’t take much to break him. It never does. A few more praises here and there, some genuine affection that’s so genuine that it doesn’t feel real. That is all it takes.

 

Nicky looks at his plate and the extra food that he’s been given under the excuse of _you’re growing and you probably need more food_ and tears start to cloud his vision.

 

He tries blinks them away, and the next moment he’s crying and Erik’s palm is pressed against the back of his neck as he scoots over to pull him into his arms. His parents are pushing out of their chairs and coming around to his side, faces fixed into concerned frowns. His breathing is erratic, and he doesn’t know how to answer their soft questions that’s asking him _what’s wrong?_

 

There’s nothing _wrong_. Nothing bad has happened, he doesn’t have an excuse to be acting this way. He doesn’t have an excuse to be sad, to be whiny, to be angry.

 

But Erik doesn’t let go of him until his tears have started to dry, and his parents don’t leave their side until Erik asks them to finish their dinner and wash the dishes while he takes Nicky to the bathroom to wash his face.

 

Erik watches Nicky turn on the tap and gather water into his cupped hands. He holds his breath, and when he lets go, his breathing starts to even out, and he’s no longer crying when he looks at himself in the mirror, all red-rimmed eyes and flushed cheeks.

 

“…Sometimes I wonder why I can’t have this,” Nicky says, but his voice is so quiet it almost comes out as a whisper. He chokes out a laugh, bringing his hands up to cover his eyes. “Is it because I’m a horrible person? Is it because I don’t deserve nice things?”

 

Erik doesn’t reply immediately, and Nicky takes the silence in, already berating himself for speaking. _Why did you do that? You shouldn’t have said anything. It’s not like he –_

 

“They don’t deserve you.”

 

He jumps, startled at Erik’s voice. He drops his hands down to his side as he finds his eyes. Erik looks solemn, with his lips pursed and his shoulders tense.

 

“I know you don’t believe a word I’m saying right now,” Erik continues in English. “I just want you to know that I think you’re amazing. My parents think you’re amazing. We’ve only known you for a week and we’re ready to adopt you.”

 

Nicky laughs at that, bitterly, and tries to swallow the lump that’s forming in his throat again.

 

“They really don’t deserve you,” he repeats, tone softer this time.

 

“…Okay,” he says, looking away. He looks at the sink and the droplets of water that isn’t heavy enough to slide its way down to reach the drain. “Okay,” he says again, and although it tastes foreign on his tongue, like a lie that has been forced into his mouth.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Nothing changes after Nicky’s mental breakdown during dinner, and they still treat him the same way as they did before, when they didn’t know Nicky was a time bomb that’s always ticking towards an unexpected mental breakdown or panic attack.

 

The words _why are you like this?_ and _stop with this attitude_ are still written on the inside of his elbows, and other words, _useless_ , _you’re not my son_ , _fag, what do you mean_ are printed all over his body, his legs, his neck, his forehead. Words that aren’t his, but words that have entwined itself into everything that he has and that have become him.

 

Silence means he just has his scars and wounds to deal with, and not new, sharp wounds that hurt everytime he moves. Nicky is grateful for this silence.

 

 

* * *

 

 

It’s another Sunday, and Nicky sleeps till noon. He blinks tiredly, trying to focus on his surroundings. The dull headache is reminding him that he’s slept too much, and he’s tempted to slip back into unconsciousness, but one look at the clock hanging from the opposite of the room tells him that maybe he should get up.

 

He makes his way to the kitchen, and he sees Erik studying on the dining table, his notes and textbooks spread out in a way that makes Nicky question how he can locate anything. He looks up when he hears Nicky’s padded footsteps approach, his fingers stilling above the keyboard of his laptop.

 

“Hey,” he greets him, standing up to take Nicky’s hand into his. Nicky tries not to think about that gesture too much. “Come on, let’s make you some coffee.”

 

Nicky huffs out a half formed laugh because he doesn’t drink coffee all that much and he’s pretty sure it’s Erik who lives on that substance. But he lets Erik guide him into the kitchen and lets Erik make him a cup of coffee.

 

He doesn’t end up finishing it, too engrossed into staring into the space behind Erik, mind focused on nothing. Perhaps it’s not _nothing_ because apparently the human mind can’t picture _nothing_ , but he never lingered on any particular thoughts to remember anything. His attention only returns when Erik moves and is now in his line of his sight.

 

In the time he’s lost, the coffee has cooled and the page Erik was on in his notebook has been filled in with his handwriting, cursive and almost too neat to be legible.

 

Erik looks into Nicky’s eyes, his fingers laced around his empty mug as he thinks. Nicky looks back, because he’s good at staring competitions if he doesn’t start cracking up.

 

It is Erik who breaks the eye contact first as he gently puts his cup down onto the polished surface of the table. He breaks into a big smile, and Nicky blinks at him curiously.

 

“You know what? Let’s bake something.”

 

Nicky bursts out laughing at the unexpected suggestion, but doesn’t complain when Erik drags him to the kitchen and then to the supermarket down the street to get the ingredients that they couldn’t find in the cupboards.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The break ends with a soft sigh. School starts, and Nicky drowns in words he understands and words he doesn’t, interacting with people at school and people on the street. Gets thrown into a spiral of introductions with teachers and classmates, a constant loop of remembering people with faces that he can’t put names to.

 

Erik takes Nicky to his friendship group at lunch, and Nicky is included almost immediately, greeted with smiles and friendly touches and questions about how he’s finding it so far. He answers, _it’s fine_ , and even though he doesn’t feel it, there’s still some sort of comfort in knowing that this word would protect him from other prying questions, disappointed frowns and strange glares. He may never feel the word fully, but in a country who doesn’t know who he is and who he was, it’s closer to the truth than it is a lie.

 

Erik’s attention flickers from one person to another, and so does Nicky’s. There’s a boy who makes eye contact with whoever is talking, always nodding slightly to tell someone that they’ve got his full attention. There’s a girl who laughs easily, her eyes crinkling into crescent moons whenever she does. There’s another person who’s neither a girl nor a boy, and Nicky is wide-eyed and star-struck and everything in between as he watches them express themselves.

 

Leon, Andrea and Yu Cheng.

 

And it’s surprisingly easy to slip into this kind of group dynamic, and Nicky ends up ignoring the fifteen unread texts from his friends back in U.S., and the other three from his parents.

 

 

* * *

 

 

There’s this underlying tension in the year group, one that whispers _it’s the last year of high school_ and _you need to start thinking about what you want to do now_ among students and teachers, and that’s how Nicky ends up sitting next to Andrea in a compulsory future careers lecture.

 

The lecturer is fumbling through the presentation, like she knows the content but she doesn’t know how to actually use it to her advantage. She speaks about future paths and possible degrees and careers and how to maximise your results, and Nicky bites his lip just a little harder and slides a little down his chair because _all he wants to do is to cease existing –_

 

“It’s fine if you don’t know what you want to do, you know,” Andrea, who has been sitting next to him quietly the entire time says, and Nicky almost believes her, almost convinced by her nonchalant tone. But she continues, a strange smile on her face. “It’s also okay if you haven’t thought of anything because you’ve never thought you would make it this far.”

 

And Nicky suddenly understands. It’s like a fire recognising another fire born from the same star, from the same ashes.

 

“Okay,” he says, and that’s the end of their conversation. He swallows all the other thoughts he wanted to express but couldn’t translate into words, and some part of him supposes, so did she.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Nicky spends his nights deep in slumber, away from the thoughts that plague him during the day. Erik spends his nights wide awake, staring at the ceiling for hours before getting up to do the reading he doesn’t need to do.

 

Here’s a fact. Erik sleeps too little and Nicky sleeps too much.

 

Nicky only notices that Erik is up late pouring over textbooks and papers and essays when he goes to the bathroom one night. There’s a dim light coming from the living room, a dark, orange glow that’s being emitted from the lamp on the far side of the couch. Erik is typing on his laptop, making notes or writing something – Nicky is too far gone and sleepy to care what.

 

He walks over to the couch, and Erik looks up immediately, tired eyes hidden behind his glasses. Erik seems a little surprised, probably because Nicky values sleep more than anything else – slight attempts to try and counteract the way he feels constantly, always drained and run down.

 

“Nightmare?” He asks, shuffling the papers next to him and making space on the couch. Nicky shakes his head and he frowns at the empty cup of hot chocolate sitting on the table, freshly finished since there’s still a dampness at the bottom of the mug, not yet to form stains. Erik doesn’t question any further, and pats the spot next to him. “It’s not the most comfortable seat in the world, but sit.”

 

Nicky sits down, the certain dullness in his head threatening to become a headache. He leans against the arm of the couch, sighing softly as his head hits the cushion, and his gaze lingers onto something in the dark, or maybe it’s just nothing at all.

 

Erik returns to his typing, and when he looks up again, twenty minutes or thirty minutes or an hour later, Nicky is fast asleep, his eyes and mouth closed, his breathing finally evening out, almost an achievement considering how hard it takes for Nicky to breathe with the weight on his chest during the day. Erik stands up, goes to his room, and comes back with a blanket to drape it over Nicky. Then he sits back down onto the couch, still warm from his hours here, and his attention returns to his laptop.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Nicky wakes up to the smell of breakfast being cooked in the kitchen, along with Erik’s parents talking to each other. His head is slightly pounding as he tries to blink the sleep out of his eyes, his body heavy, refusing to slip out of the warm cocoon. Erik is nowhere in sight, but his laptop is charging on the counter. He sits up, and doesn’t bother unwrapping the blanket as he makes his way to the bathroom.

 

He bumps into Erik on the way to breakfast, who is coming out of his room in a freshly pressed shirt, his hair still a little damp. Nicky is about to smile and greet him, but Erik beats him to there first, and asks if he slept well. Nicky nods, whispers a _yes, thank you_.

 

Erik’s parents leave before they do, and along with them they take away the fond bickering and footsies beneath the table. Both of them are left sitting on the table eating breakfast from across each other, and the silence is so comfortable, it seems awkward. Nicky swallows the food he was chewing in his mouth, and looks down at his almost full plate before looking back up at Erik, who’s carefully cutting into his own pancakes.

 

“Please don’t stay up so late,” he says, voice slightly unsteady, “it’s bad for your health.”

 

Nicky immediately feels dread pooling in his stomach at Erik’s surprise and raised eyebrow. It’s none of his business – what does it matter if Erik went to sleep late? It’s like not he has a say in this.

 

“Okay, Nicky,” Erik says, and Nicky is forced to swallow down his apology that’s at the tip of his tongue. “I’ll try.”

 

 _I’ll try_ makes it seem like he’s actually going to think about it, even though he might not act on it. _I’ll try_ sounds like a promise that Nicky’s not ready to keep. So he ducks his head down and silences himself by putting another piece of pancake into his mouth.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Erik smells like a storm yet to begin and Nicky often wonders how someone like him can feel like there were rolling thunderclouds within his body, with lightning that flashes so often that you can see the remnants of it in his eyes when he laughs.

 

Nicky doesn’t know whether he has a crush on Erik or whether it’s just him latching onto the first person who shows him kindness.

 

 

* * *

 

 

When he falls, the world is quiet around him.

 

 

* * *

 

 

There are tremors in his hands sometimes, on bad days. It’s like a reminder to him, a _look, you can’t even control your own body – that’s how useless you are_. He drops things and can’t help but to stand still and watch until it hits the ground, and then he spends another minute looking at it before he bends down to clean it up.

 

It doesn’t happen in slow-motion, nothing like the movies, that moment when someone’s reflex would either save them or the thing they’ve dropped, but it’s probably because Nicky has given up before it even started.

 

The mug he’s been using ever since he arrived is now shattered into pieces, becoming jagged ends and edges. It’s a clean break, with shards the half the size of Nicky’s palm. He bends down to pick them up, and he entertains himself by thinking about how this is like picking up the broken pieces of his own heart.

 

As soon as all of the shards have been properly disposed of, his vision starts to become blurry and he’s pretty sure it’s not because he doesn’t have his contacts in. Tears are welling up in his eyes, and cotton is filling up his head again. He slides down onto the floor, hugging himself close as ugly noises start to escape from his throat.

 

He barely notices when Erik comes into the kitchen, kneeling down beside him, but he flinches when Erik takes his hand to inspect the cut on his hand that he doesn’t even realise is there. He lets Erik wash the small amount of blood down the drain and tries to laugh when a Hello Kitty Band-Aid is applied on the wound, but it only made him sound like he’s choking. He takes his hand back and brings it to his face, either to wipe his tears or to hide them.

 

“Why am I so useless?” Nicky questions, and it’s English that’s spilling out of his mouth. “Why can’t I even hold a damn cup properly?”

 

His breaths are coming in rapidly, like the ocean crashing into the shore on a stormy day. It’s not like him to blurt out whatever he’s thinking, but Erik makes him feel safe, makes him feel like he’s under his blanket at night.

 

“You’re not useless, Nicky,” Erik says, softly, moving away to give Nicky space.

 

“And how do you know?” Nicky asks, fingers gripping onto the fabric of his trousers as he curls into himself, and Erik is reminded of all the fingernail shaped marks Nicky has sometimes on his arms. He doesn’t reply, but he sits down next to Nicky and rearranges himself.

 

“Come here,” he whispers, holding out his arms. Nicky doesn’t move, but he looks up, tears rolling down from his cheeks and his jaw clenched in an attempt to stop him from sobbing loudly. Erik touches Nicky hesitantly, and pulls him into his lap when Nicky doesn’t react negatively to his touch.

 

It’s awkward and uncomfortable, with Nicky accidentally bumping his nose against Erik’s shoulders and his knees digging into Erik’s thighs. But Erik just whispers reassurances into Nicky’s hair and runs his palm up and down his back while Nicky stops whimpering against Erik’s shoulders and starts crying out loud.

 

Nicky doesn't allow himself to lose control like this. It already breaks him when he watches things unravel, watching something that he could have prevented or changed, undo itself. But crying in someone’s arms like this, crying itself –

 

Suddenly Erik’s hand on Nicky feels incredibly heavy, and something is dragging him back under water again. His vision starts to swim, his chest heaving as he struggles to breathe and calm down.

 

“You’re worth something,” Erik murmurs, “you matter so much to me I don’t know what to do with myself sometimes.”

 

And Nicky doesn’t deserve Erik’s words, Erik’s kindness, Erik himself. He must have said something out loud, because a little whine comes out of Erik’s throat, and he presses Nicky even closer.

 

Nicky cries and cries until a headache starts to form, until he is hiccupping, until he is hollowed and emptied. Both his eyes and throat feel incredibly dry, and tiredness washes over him, allowing him to drift away from consciousness.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Nicky wakes up in his own bed and he figures Erik must have carried him back after his mental breakdown in the kitchen. There’s the usual ache in his head and even though a look at the clock tells him he’s been sleeping for about thirteen hours, he still feels tired.

 

He wants to get out of bed, but he can’t bring himself to, with his body refusing to listen to him and his head still full of sleep. He closes his eyes and it doesn’t take long until he falls asleep again.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Numbness overtakes the feeling of guilt and he doesn’t talk to Erik, and Nicky supposes he should feel bad when Erik stops talking too, either because he’s hurt by Nicky’s silence, or because he wants give him a little more space. He doesn’t disturb him at all, other than the times when he comes to his room to tell him dinner’s ready. Sometimes Nicky doesn’t come out when he calls, but when he does, he would find dinner wrapped in cling-wrap on the counter, and a note reminding him to microwave it, complete with a smiley face and all.

 

Sometimes Nicky would microwave it, sometimes he would eat it cold. Regardless, he washes the dish and puts it back into where it was taken out from afterwards. Erik has stopped doing his work in the living room late at night, moving it into his room instead, probably to avoid interaction with Nicky.

 

It’s a strange thing, because it almost seems like he’s confirming all of the thoughts Nicky has about himself – that he’s not likeable, that he’s useless and ugly and disgusting and he should just commit suicide already because no one would care if he does. Logically, Nicky knows all of this is not true – because Erik has always made sure Nicky knew what he thought of him – brilliant, worthy. But emotionally and mentally, none of this registers.

 

Nicky drags his feet back to his room and takes out his journal written in broken German and in broken thoughts about lies, about triggers, about suicide, about self-hatred. He bites his lips and flicks through it until he reaches a fresh page, the last entry being just a week ago. His hands and fingers are stiff, almost as if winter has come early. He opens and closes his fist, just to get rid of that rigidness. Then he picks up a pen, and starts to write in English.

 

 

* * *

 

 

To put it simply, it’s like this.

 

Nicky doesn’t want Erik to fix him. Erik doesn’t think Nicky is broken.

 

 

* * *

 

 

School is still school, full of homework and assignments to complete, along with exams and quizzes and everything in between. There’s a health presentation from some program that tries to be interactive, handing out blank sheets of paper and telling them to write down things, something about _listing one thing you like the most about yourself, one thing you don’t_ and _one thing you wish you could change about yourself._

 

Nicky stares at the piece of paper, pen in hand. Something is buzzing in his ear, and he can hear other people scratching something onto the paper without hesitation. There’s some laughter as someone makes a self-deprecating joke, and suddenly he’s excusing himself from the class to go to the sick bay.

 

He walks out and he can feel himself tearing up when a hand is placed on his shoulder. He turns around, tense, and his friend is smiling, her eyes creased into crescent moons as usual.

 

“I told the teacher I was going to go to the toilet,” she says, and she pats around her pockets for a while before looking up at him guiltily. “I was going to offer you tissues but I had way too many mental breakdowns last week and I haven’t had the chance to refill my stash.”

 

That startles a laugh out of Nicky’s throat, and she beams as she leads him to the sick bay. Nicky ends up sitting on one of the beds, wiping his face with his sleeve, and she sits next to him after she manages to find a box of tissues in one of the drawers.

 

“I want to die,” Nicky says, after the worse washes away, and it’s surprisingly easy when he knows the person in front of him feels things the same way he does.

 

“Same,” she laughs, and leans against the wall, her face fixed in a smile. “Feels bad when someone tells you to list something you like about yourself when you hate yourself so much. Feels even worse when you can list at least fifteen things about yourself that you don’t like in thirty seconds but you can’t even think of one good thing in five minutes.”

 

“I don’t even know why I’m here,” Nicky’s voice cracks half way through that sentence. “I just want to be dead so I won’t have to deal with any of this.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

They fall into silence after that, with her hand pressed warm against Nicky’s hand. The tears finally stop after a while, and it’s hard to keep his eyes open with how dry they feel. Nicky turns and tells Andrea to go back to class, and she shrugs, an _okay, sure, I really hope you don’t decide to die here_ , handing him the tissue box before she pats him on the leg and leaving.

 

Nicky doesn’t know how and when he fell asleep, but when he wakes up, Erik is sitting on the edge of the bed with his fingers threaded into Nicky’s hair, gently combing through it. Nicky keeps his eyes closed but he nudges his head closer, smiling when Erik chuckles. And it feels so nice Nicky decides not to strangle Andrea for telling Erik about what happened, and that’s he here.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Nicky’s back in America again, almost seventeen and out in the club with his other friends, the bouncer barely giving a glance at their poorly made IDs. He’s told his parents that he’s going over to his friend’s to sleep over, and Nicky doesn’t feel as much guilt as he should, because technically the lie would be filled in soon.

 

“You’re such a pretty boy,” someone slurs, hands touching his cheek, his back, his waist. The music is loud, the air is hot and his cheeks are flushed.

 

 _I’m not gay_ , Nicky wants to say.

 

But Nicky smiles at him, the edge of his eyes crinkling, and the man doesn’t know what that smile means until he has to take several steps back when Nicky throws up onto the floor.

 

The man doesn’t touch him again, and he’s fine with that. Nicky watches him walk away, head still dizzy with the amount of drinks he has in his system. He finds himself in the corner, leaning against the wall. He can taste the bile in his mouth, bitter and sour and it reminds him of that time when he was sick. His mum would place a basin next to his bed, and clean it out whenever he threw up the things he has just managed to down.

 

His friends are somewhere, nowhere, and everywhere.

 

They drag him out of the club, giggling at something or nothing at all. The air is thick and cold early in the morning or late at night, harsher than the sweaty warmth inside. The difference is clear, and Nicky feels overwhelmed, numb, drunk out of his mind. He could still hear the music thrumming against his bones, and he could still feel the man’s hand pressed against his waist.

 

His friends shove him in a cab, climbing in after him, and suddenly there’s nothing to worry about anymore, as sleep covers his eyes from behind and lures him into the darkness.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Nicky falls asleep in America, and wakes up in Germany. His pillow is damp with sweat and maybe even tears. The memory of his outing is vivid in his mind, the taste of alcohol lingering at the back of his throat. Nicky rarely have nightmares, and rarely ever dream of the past. People have asked him if he dreamt of the future, but Nicky thinks he dreams of the present. Alternate realities, parallel universes. Places that offer him refuge when he runs away from home.

 

He looks at the clock, ticking on the opposite wall. Then he turns over, shuffling to the other side of the pillow that’s still dry, and goes back to sleep.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Erik rarely works in his room, and it shouldn’t come to Nicky as a surprise, considering how he’s also there at night. He’s always hunched over his homework and worksheets at the dining table, or at the coffee table in front of the couch. Sometimes Nicky watches Erik work, because everything seems still when Erik’s concentrated, and there’s nothing other than time slipping through his fingers.

 

It’s a strange feeling to have, because Erik has always reminded Nicky of the storm that’s been wreaking havoc inside him, pulling down walls and blowing off roofs, making him question the things he’s known and accepted about himself. Things that he has taken in, hugged against his chest despite it being covered in thorns. Things he has held onto so long that it’s become him, his skin growing over the wounds and the thorns and all the pain.

 

Silence is natural to both of them, even though there are a million things Nicky thinks about, thousands of them he wants to say out loud. He’s never been confident, his classmates always called him _shy_ and _quiet_ , except he’s always been _loud_ with his friends, and Nicky doesn’t know who he is anymore. His personality feels fabricated, his kindness and happiness borne out of selfishness and guilt.

 

“Your hair’s getting long,” Nicky says, suddenly, out the blue, out of everything he’s been thinking about.

 

“Yeah, I guess so?” Erik replies, a little confused. “I’m going to get a haircut soon.”

 

“…No,” Nicky says, and tries to play it cool when Erik looks at him. He can feel his face heating up, and Nicky really hopes his complexion is enough to hide the blush. “Don’t cut it. I mean. It looks good on you. So.”

 

“Oh,” Erik smiles, eyes soft, and he looks like he’s just been let in on a secret that he’s not supposed to know. “I think I might grow it out, then.”

 

Nicky peeks out of the cushion he’s been hiding his face with since he’s started his sentence, and then upon Erik’s teasing smile, he presses his face back into the cushion, fingers clutching the fabric as hard as he can.

 

“Okay,” his voice comes out muffled, and Erik thinks it’s the most endearing thing ever.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Nicky is laughing when Erik kisses him the first time, a press against the corner of his lips. It’s brief, barely there. He tenses up, but he relaxes almost immediately, releasing a soft sigh as he pulls Erik back into his personal space.

 

A lifetime flashes before him when his lips meet Erik’s, a life where Nicky goes back to America and marries a nice Catholic girl from his church or the church from a town over whom his parents approve of. A life where they will have two children and a dog together. A life where they grow old, and watch their children grow up and get married themselves.

 

“I want this,” Nicky whispers against Erik’s mouth. His nose is pressed against Erik’s cheeks, his palm on his arm. Erik tastes like the coffee they’ve just had together, with a hint of a storm building up in the horizon. Erik smiles and moves them into a more comfortable position, and _yes,_ this _is what he wants_ , Nicky thinks.

 

Damnation and all.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Something begins, faint and soft like a heartbeat in an unborn baby.

 

Maybe that’s not the right metaphor for their relationship, but neither of them care when they themselves know what it’s like, knows what their relationship is like even though they can’t put the feeling into coherent words.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Nicky has long stopped registering the concept of time when all his days are blended into each other, his memories filled with gaps, blankness in places where there should be things, one or two things floating in a place that should be overflowing. It saddens Erik, how Nicky can’t remember what he did in the past week after a mental breakdown.

 

They’re walking in the park, the weather perfect when the sun isn’t being unbearable. Nicky has a camera in his hand, taking photos of trees and flowers, of strangers sitting on benches, of Erik.

 

Nicky’s beautiful like this, mouth upturned and eyes bright as he takes his photos, his fingers just peeking out of the sweater he stole from Erik this morning. Erik’s heart is full, overflowing at the sight. And Erik’s so in love.

 

It catches him off guard, when Nicky sticks out a finger and pokes Erik’s right cheek.

 

“Boop.”

 

And suddenly they’re running, with Nicky laughing as he tries to hide from Erik, but Erik reaches out to grab Nicky’s waist so he could tickle him, and the situation ends with both of them falling over each other as they burst into fits of giggles.

 

Both of their stomachs and cheeks are sore from all the laughing, and Erik decides it doesn’t matter that most of this won’t be in Nicky’s memory bank, because he’ll be there even when Nicky doesn’t remember them anymore.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“We should go camping,” Leon suggests, on a non-descript day that’s full of still skies and a wind that’s barely there. It isn’t an out of the blue suggestion, since all of them haven’t spent a lot of time to themselves ever since school demanded much more out of them.

 

“Wow, that’s such a great suggestion,” Yu exclaims immediately, not even looking up from what they’re trying to do. “I wasn’t aware that we could drive there, come back _and_ enjoy ourselves, considering we only have two days on the weekends the last time I checked. I mean, technically, we probably can, but some of us have overprotective parents.”

 

Leon pouts at Yu’s sarcastic tone, and the rest tries to keep their smiles to themselves.

 

“It’s not that bad of a suggestion, and we could just have a sleep over at someone’s place and call it camping,” Andrea suggests, shrugging.

 

“I would much prefer to sleep inside, with an actual bed. But if you want, Leon, you can pitch a tent outside in the park or something. I’m sure someone other than you would appreciate some romantic stargazing,” Yu teases, and moves away before Leon manages to shove them.

 

“Let’s do that then, the sleepover,” Erik says, and maybe it’s because they haven’t done it before that no one seems to have the heart to disagree with the suggestion this time.

 

 

* * *

 

 

In the end, they decide to crash at Erik’s place, because that is obviously the most convenient option for them due to some magical, mysterious reason. It’s probably because Erik’s parents have zero opinions against the idea, and not because they don’t want to clean up their own place afterwards.

 

Usually, Nicky and the other three members of the Klose family divided jobs when dinner time came around, but with the addition of three more people, dinner preparation is suddenly a seven people job. It’s supposed to be messy, with so many people in the kitchen and limbs fitted everywhere in a small space, and it _is_ , but somehow they make it work with minimum sacrifices.

 

After dinner, Erik’s parents retire to their room, kissing Erik’s forehead goodnight and then Nicky’s, and Erik laughs instead of being embarrassed in front of their friends. Leon bursts out in laughter when Nicky squirms, just a little uncomfortable, and Yu smirks from across the table. It’s cute, something soft, and nothing like the sharp humiliation Nicky’s parents always subject him to whenever they’re at church or at some family dinner party.

 

They put on a movie in front of the small television the Klose family owns, and all of them find a spot on the couch or on the floor, their limbs spread everywhere and on top of each other. Nicky lets out a small laugh when Leon’s toes wiggle against his waist, and he watches his friends settle down as the movie starts. Andrea’s on the floor with her head against Yu’s knees, and Yu seems to be the one who’s taking the weight of Leon against them, who’s decided to spread out across sidewards. Erik’s pressed against Nicky, and Nicky could put his head on Erik’s shoulder if he wanted to, and he _really_ wants to.

 

“Puppy pile!!” Leon shouts, and accidentally hits Yu with his arm, and Yu pushes him in return because _what the fuck_.

 

They laugh, and everything slows down as they concentrate on the movie. Nicky is more content with watching his friends than the movie itself, because he doesn’t remember a time when his friends back in America curled up next to each other during a movie night. It’s always underage drinking and partying to prove their youth or masculinity or something like that. There will always be refusal to touch each other because they’re all boys and _boys don’t touch other boys_ , even though they’re drunk out of their minds with no sense of direction and logic, and have no clue what their names are.

 

But now Erik’s hand is entwined with his own, and Leon’s feet are starting to tuck themselves under Nicky’s thighs because _it’s warmer_. Andrea’s the first one to fall asleep, with Yu’s hand in her hair. Leon starts to drift off, eyelids and limbs heavy even though he feels like he’s floating, but the movie ends before he actually falls asleep. Yu gently coaxes Andrea awake and they all take turns washing up in the bathroom before going to bed – and bed for them right now is just made up of blankets and pillows on the living room floor, because they’re never going to be able to fit all five of them in one bed.

 

When they’re all comfortable, Leon suggests, because brushing his teeth seems to have washed away all the drowsiness that he’s experienced just then during the movie, “does anyone want to play truth or dare but without the dare since we’re already comfortable and warm and none of us actually wants to move?”

 

Yu snorts, but it’s muffled against the blanket they’ve pulled up to their face. “Truth or truth, a wide range of choices you’ve got there.”

 

“Sure, why not?” Andrea says, even though her eyes are definitely closed, like she’s about to fall asleep any moment. “But it’s not like we don’t know a lot of things about each other, there’s nothing much to ask about.”

 

“Did you think I was going to ask you generic questions like who your crush is or something?” Leon says, nose wrinkling, even though they won’t be able to see it clearly in the dark. “We already know you’re in love with way too many people that you doubt it’s even love, Nicky and Erik are already together and it’s super cute and fluffy that it makes me want to cry, and Yu and I are not looking for relationships at the moment. Yu will tell me if they fell in love.”

 

“Will I really?” Yu asks, dryly. “I don’t want you to scare them off before I even get to say hi.”

 

Leon, however, ignores that comment, and Nicky giggles into Erik’s back. He is startled when Erik suddenly turns over to face him, and tries to calm down and hope Erik can’t hear his heartbeat like this.

 

Erik puts an arm around Nicky to pull him closer, and then closes his eyes like he hasn’t just caused Nicky a slight mental breakdown at the sudden contact. Nicky doesn’t know what to do with his own hands, but then the weight of the arm around his waist disappears, and Erik takes Nicky’s hand, gently, and puts it against his own chest.

 

Erik doesn’t say anything, but he breathes in and out, deeply, and somehow Nicky understands what he’s trying to ask.

 

 _Yes_ , Nicky wants to reply, because he can feel Erik’s heartbeat underneath his fingers, through the fabric of his pyjamas and his skin, and it’s beating as fast as Nicky’s own heart. _Yes_ , and _thank you_ , he wants to say. But he doesn’t, and he presses his other hand against their already joined hands, and closes his eyes.

 

This is where he’s meant to be, this is where he belongs, among his own heartbeat and Erik’s heartbeat, among the rustling of fabric and blankets from their friends just less than a metre from them.

 

This is where he finds himself most content.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Sorry!” Nicky yells, apologising when he opens the bathroom door and sees Andrea changing after her shower. He quickly goes back to the living room, and both Yu and Leon are laughing at his misfortune. Nicky blushes, and wishes Erik was here instead of getting them breakfast outside so that he doesn’t have to face the embarrassment alone. Andrea comes out wearing a shirt that is clearly too big on her, and she’s drying her hair with a towel.

 

“It’s my fault for not actually closing and locking the door,” she shrugs, and sits back down onto their temporary floor-bed.

 

“Put on some pants,” Leon whines.

 

Nicky has been avoiding eye contact with Andrea since it happened because this is the first time he’s ever seen his friends like this, and he really doesn’t want to know.

 

“What? You haven’t seen these before?” She asks, lifting her shirt up, and Nicky finally realises that she’s referring to the thin scars, neat and surprisingly straight across her thighs, all too familiar to him. “I thought we’re way past that.”

 

Leon groans like he’s in pain, and Yu shrugs.

 

“You’ve got scars too,” they say, evenly, like it’s a general comment about how nice the weather is today. “Not all self-inflicted, but all of us do.”

 

“Yeah, I know,” Leon sighs, ruffling his hair, and the revelation makes Nicky ache, because all of them are hypocrites by nature. They wouldn’t – or couldn’t – love themselves like they love each other, always giving out advice that they don’t use on themselves. And for that, they’re all self-destructive and doomed from the beginning, their friendship based on their own selfishness and the desire to feel needed. But it’s okay.

 

It’s okay because they’re way past that. It’s okay, because they know they love each other to compensate the lack of love for themselves, and have accepted that wholeheartedly.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Nicky’s body are pages filled of negative words that other people have stuffed into his mouth, and he’s tried putting a hand over the words, tried putting a hand over his eyes and replacing them with positive ones. It didn’t work. It doesn’t work.

 

It’s frustrating, because he’s so used to them that when Erik calls him _beautiful_ , _darling_ and _love_ , he finds it incredibly difficult to open up a new page to write those down.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Admit it, I’m delightful,” Nicky laughs, and straddles Erik in an attempt to appear threatening.

 

“I never said you weren’t delightful,” Erik retorts while his hands finds Nicky’s hips to keep him from falling off. “You’re a joy to be around.”

 

“Sure,” Nicky doesn’t seem like he’s caught off guard with the sudden confession, but he hides his smile with one of his sleeves while he stables himself with his other hand on Erik’s shoulder. “Whatever you say.”

 

“You’re beautiful,” Erik’s smile broadens as he looks up at Nicky’s face, who’s in the process of hiding his face while catching onto what Erik’s trying to do. “Perfect.”

 

“Stop stealing my lines,” Nicky pushes Erik’s shoulder playfully, slightly whining as he puts his chin against Erik’s shoulder. “I’m cute too. Love me.”

 

Erik laughs at that, and kisses Nicky’s hair. “Gladly.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Nicky gets phones calls from his parents every other week, and Erik watches Nicky lock himself in his room before emerging out with flushed cheeks and eyes rubbed raw. When that happens, Erik takes Nicky out to their balcony, in hopes of allowing the noise of the traffic downstairs to drown out the whispers.

 

Erik sits on the railing, his back facing the vastness of everything and nothing, and Nicky sits down on the floor by his feet. Erik turns around to look down onto the road beneath them, sighing as his fingers find Nicky’s hair, soft with dampness from the shower he took to soothe the frustration and the hurt and everything as he bites down hard enough to taste blood in his mouth.

 

A soft smile appears on his face when Nicky leans into his touch, and they stay like that in mutual silence.

 

Nicky never talks, and Erik doesn’t ask. It works, though, and that’s all they need.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Erik isn’t all that bothered when Nicky makes plans with their friends, and he places a kiss on Nicky’s eyelid whenever Nicky says _I’m sorry you didn’t get invited even though they’re our friends_ with his eyes. Erik smiles and gives Nicky a reassuring hug because it’s fine.

 

“Enjoy yourself, okay?” Erik whispers into Nicky’s hair. “You deserve it.”

 

His smile only gets wider when he feels Nicky nod, even if it’s just a little hesitant.

 

 

* * *

 

 

They’re on the couch watching something on the TV and Erik notices that Nicky is abnormally quiet, a great difference from his giggles and comments about how bad the plot is. Erik knows he’s just came back from a phone call from his parents, and Erik wants to wrap him in a blanket and cuddle him until he feels okay, but one look at Nicky who is curled up with his knees pressed against his chest tells Erik that he doesn’t need the physical contact right now. So he turns to refocus on whatever the plot the show is supposed to be.

 

“I’m gay,” Nicky suddenly says. Erik turns to look at him, but Nicky’s eyes are trained on the TV, his face changing colours as the scene changes, an unreadable expression on his face.

 

“Okay,” Erik replies, and he goes back to watching the show. He doesn’t say anything else, but he tightens his hold when Nicky slides his fingers in between his.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Nothing noticeable changes after that. Nicky is still Nicky, all smiles and open gestures and infectious laughter that you could hear from the other side of the room even with the closed doors. Casual hugs and touches that warm people up for the rest of the day. Nicky is still Nicky, who has mental breakdowns in the middle of class, darting eyes and wobbling jaws, eyes and noses rubbed red, self-deprecating jokes and more self-mocking laughter.

 

Something has changed, though. But Nicky doesn’t know what yet.

 

 

* * *

 

 

They are eighteen and almost nineteen when they go skinny dipping at midnight, hoping they won’t get caught. Nicky slides into the pool slowly, and the water becomes his second skin. Neither of them flick water at each other, both of them too mesmerised by the sight of the stars and the moon hanging above them. They spend the half the night pressing chlorine-filled kisses onto each other’s forehead, and they spend the rest of the night washing it out of each other’s hair.

 

Sometimes Nicky texts Erik when they’re in the same room, and if he wanted to, he could lift his head from his phone and see Erik smiling at his phone as he types a response. They make plans to drive over the border of Germany to France or to Belgium or some other country where neither of them knows the language of, something stupid and romantic like that, despite the fact it’s merely wishful thinking, something to aspire to.

 

There’s something poetic about this, in a way that reminds him of beaches in mid-winter. Like hiding in bookshops to wait out the rain, or thinking about a home that you can no longer return to. It’s like feeling raw and out of the place the same time you feel safe and protected.

 

And when their hands find each other in front of one of the prettiest church Nicky has ever seen, he is laughing.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Nicky whispers things into Erik’s shoulder when they’re cuddling. Things like _I appreciate the things you do_. Things like _thank you for existing_ and _you deserve every single good thing in this world_. Things like _I’m sorry I can’t give you anything_ and _I feel selfish for wanting this_.

 

 

* * *

 

 

And Erik whispers things back into Nicky’s hair. Things like _thank you for being the person you are_. Things like _I love you so much_ and _I’m so proud of you for being here_. Things like _I understand_ and _yeah, I know._

 

 

* * *

 

 

Erik is almost soaked when he comes back home, his shirt sticking uncomfortably to his skin and water dripping from his hair down onto the floor. Erik puts a hand against the wall as leverage when he uses the other hand to take his shoes and socks off. A pair of feet enveloped in fluffy slippers softly padded into his view, and the owner of them laughs and drapes the towel he had in his arms over Erik’s head.

 

“I told you it was going to rain,” Nicky says, voice light with amusement, helping Erik dry his hair.

 

“I know,” Erik groans, his voice muffled by the towel in his face.

 

“Come on, you need to go take a hot shower before you catch a cold,” Nicky takes Erik’s hand and guides him to the bathroom, and Erik can’t help but smile at that gesture, because he remembers he was the one who led Nicky to the bathroom when he first arrived here.

 

Butterflies seem to have flown up from his stomach to his throat, and Erik doesn’t know whether it’s happiness or pride or both that’s overflowing. When Nicky lets go of his hand, the warmth remains, slowly creeping from his fingertips to his chest.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“It’s okay if it doesn’t hurt anymore, right?” Nicky asks, one night, when they’re about to leave the living room and go to sleep, because he’s afraid to ask these questions in broad daylight, out of the comfort of the darkness that’s always been there to envelop him whenever he needed it.

 

“…Just because it doesn’t hurt anymore doesn’t mean it’s okay,” Erik answers, voice slightly sluggish as he rubs his eyes. “Maybe it doesn’t hurt anymore because you’ve gotten too used to it. Being numb is not being okay.”

 

“Yeah,” Nicky breathes out, and leaves it at that as he walks to his own room. “I thought so.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

“You’re such a dork,” Nicky says, pushing Erik’s face away from him, shoulders shaking with laughter.

 

“But I’m your dork,” Erik laughs, catching his hand and wrapping his fingers around Nicky’s wrist.

 

“Did you really just…?” Nicky gasps, dramatically, and pushes Erik off. “I can’t even with you, get out. I don’t know you.”

 

“Okay, okay, I’m out,” Erik says, and he untangles himself from Nicky, and the couch they’ve been sharing. “I’ve got to help dad cook anyway. Bye!”

 

“Don’t let me see you again!” Nicky yells after him, and closes the door with a sigh, in an attempt to soothe out the deep ache inside him that has resulted from laughing too much this time. He walks to his desk, sits down, and bleeds onto the pages of his journal, because that’s the only thing he’s ever known how to do.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Nicky and Erik arrives at the cafe, and they’re waved over when he enters. Leon and Andrea aren’t here yet, but Yu looks like they’ve been sitting here for some time now, their cup of coffee only half full. They’re wearing pastel colours today, soft yellow and blue instead of their usual black and white on black and white.

 

Yu shrugs when they notice Nicky’s gaze. “My mum and dad said I should look like a girl since I am one, but to be honest, I really don’t think colour should be associated with gender.”

 

Nicky opens his mouth to say something – something like _I understand_ or something like _I feel you_ – but it only comes out as _I’m sorry_.

 

“It’s okay. I’m fine right now,” they laugh. “I might not be tomorrow, but we’ve got each other.”

 

Nicky swallows down the lump that’s forming in his throat, because _we’ve got each other_ means that he’s not _alone_ anymore, despite all the time he’s spent crying in the room doubting whether he matters to his friends, whether anyone would be affected if he died. _We’ve got each other_ means that even though they’re all broken creatures, they’re still willing to lick the blood off each other’s wounds.

 

“…Yeah,” he says, as Andrea comes into the cafe, followed by Leon. “We do.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Neither Erik nor Nicky mentions how the Bible on the table by Nicky’s bed has started to collect dust. But neither of them mention how Nicky knows the Bible back to front, with sections of it memorised, back when verses were repeated till his lips became numb and his head started to swim.

 

 

* * *

 

 

They say _I love you_ so light-heartedly it seems almost meaningless, but it is nothing but sincerity. It’s reassurance, a constant reminder. A _how are you even real_. An _I’m_ _so lucky to have you_. And when neither of them says it out loud, it’s an arm around the waist, and faint, butterfly kisses on the nose.

 

They manage to find _I love you_ in each other’s existence.

 

 

* * *

 

 

They’re on the balcony again, Erik with his legs over the edge and Nicky sitting against the railing. It’s late afternoon, the breeze gentle enough or the sun soft enough today. Both of them have gone to grab lunch with their friends after school, and Nicky had a feeling that they were going to be kicked out if they ate in the shop because of the level of noise they generate when they’re together. The cat from down the street let them pet her, and the nice old lady Erik’s known for most of his life gave them cookies that were still warm from the oven. They’ve finished their set homework for the day, and everything is fine.

 

There is something, though.

 

“You make me want to have a future,” Nicky says, closing his eyes as Erik exhales. “I’m scared.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Erik is perennial like this, eyes crinkling, laughter, muscles and skin, and Nicky thinks himself too ephemeral in comparison. Erik is a star, burning and burning, so damn _bright_ , untouchable – and Nicky – Nicky is just a meteor. Destined to burn out sooner than the sun. Destined to only bypass.

 

That's what he's doing right now. Passing by. Then burning into nothing.

 

 

* * *

 

 

It’s another weekend, and all five of them are huddled in the library, supposedly “studying” – since Nicky’s not sure if Andrea sleeping and Yu reading some crime fiction they found on the nearest bookshelf counts as studying. Erik leaves his seat to get something from the shelves, and then he walks to the front desk on the other side of the library when he can’t find the book he was looking for.

 

Nicky knows he’s been caught watching when Leon nudges him with a slight smile on his face.

 

“You guys are so in love, it’s cute.”

 

Nicky knows he’s not teasing, but he raises an eyebrow and whispers back anyway, hoping he’s not blushing as much as he thinks he is, “So when are you going to tell Yu that you like them so we can go on double dates?”

 

Leon raises an eyebrow back, seeing through Nicky’s attempt to deflect the conversation. “Pft, they’re my platonic soul mate, our relationship is as pure as it gets.”

 

Nicky wiggles his eyebrows, even though he knows Leon’s telling the truth. “Sure, whatever you say.”

 

“What are you guys talking about?” Erik asks as he puts down the books he got from the librarian onto the table.

 

“Oh, nothing,” Nicky says, before Leon can say anything about him watching Erik across the room. “Just that Leon, our dear friend here, is hopelessly in love with Andrea.”

 

“Of course I am, who doesn’t love Andrea?” Leon gestures at Andrea, who’s sleeping on the table with her head on her arms. “Cutest child ever. Must be protected at all costs.”

 

“She’s older than you, _child_ ,” Yu injects, barely containing their smile.

 

“A small detail that can be easily glossed over. It’s only a few months.”

 

Nicky steals a glance at Erik as Leon and Yu start bickering over Andrea, and he quickly looks away because Erik just looks amused at the entire conversation, and Nicky’s heart is already pounding rapidly, the tip of his ears hot and cheeks flushed. He’d rather not deal with that expression, because Nicky is in love with that boy and seeing it would make him fall harder, perhaps.

 

 

* * *

  


Erik reminds him of what a home should feel like. Like safety, like acceptance, like understanding. The home back in the U.S. was composed of two people, poisonous prayers and toxic guilt-trips, expectations that dig into his skin like claws and fights that always started and ended with the same deafening silence.

 

People find homes in places and he finds homes in people, and Nicky is afraid of what will happen to him when they leave him. He expects that his body will become hollow with its mind and heart long gone.

 

Nicky doesn’t want to allow himself to have this. _This_ , as in the smiles and the touches and the reassurances, the things he’s spent years thinking he doesn’t deserve.

 

But he’s always been selfish.

 

_Selfish boy, wanting something you don’t deserve to have._

 

He watches Erik and their friends interact with each other, a bunch of jaded people coming together like jigsaw puzzle pieces from different puzzle boxes. They don't fit perfectly, and even then, they don’t even make up a picture that makes sense –

 

– and he allows himself this, because he’s always been greedy like that.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Erik somehow finds his way onto Nicky’s bed, and Nicky somehow finds his way to Erik’s bed. Erik’s parents try their best to pretend they don’t know anything, but later Erik returns with a pained expression on his face, a bottle of lube and a box of condoms in his hand, and Nicky laughs until his stomach hurts and tears are forming in his eyes.

 

They keep it anyway, in the bottom drawer of Erik’s bedside table, even though nothing ever happens and both of them are content with that.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Do you think I’m actually in love with you?” Nicky asks, murmuring the words into Erik’s back.

 

Erik hums, and turns around to face him. “What makes you say that?”

 

“I don’t know,” Nicky admits softly. “I feel like I’m using you as a crutch? Attachment theory? That’s not very fair to you, isn’t it?”

 

“Maybe?”

 

“I’m being very serious, Erik,” Nicky frowns at that. “How will you feel if your lover straight up just said _oh look, I’m not actually in love with you or anything – I’ve just latched onto you because I’m damaged and you make me feel like I’m not_?”

 

“I believe my lover just said that to me, in much less words but with the same implication regardless,” Erik says, and Nicky can hear the smile in his voice. “I don’t think I’m very concerned.”

 

“Why?”

 

“I think most of us have the same fears, darling,” Erik puts an arm around Nicky’s waist to pull him closer. “We’re all selfish for wanting someone to stay. I want you to stay. I want you to feel like you’re worth something. As long as you’re willing, the reason doesn’t matter.”

 

Nicky’s grip on Erik’s shirt tightens, and he mumbles, “You honestly sound like one of those cheesy romance novels that your dad likes to read right now. Can’t say I like it.”

 

“I’ve got another horrible line I want to say that might persuade you,” Erik laughs amusedly, unaffected by the comment. “Do you want to hear it?”

 

“…What is it.”

 

“It’s okay if you don’t love me yet,” Erik replies, lowering his voice and pressing kisses that are barely there on the edge of Nicky’s lips. “I’ll just work extra hard to make you fall in love with me, then.”

 

“…I think you’ve just persuaded me to hate it.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Andrea gives them flowers sometimes, pretty ones that she’s picked from her potted plants. She keeps the ones that have started to wither in a vase, and when Nicky asks her about it, she shrugs, _don’t you think there’s something poetic about it? The way it’s lived most of its life waiting for full bloom and now they’ve reached it, it’s slowly wasting away._

 

 _That’s kind of sad_ , Nicky comments.

 

 _So am I_ , _so are you_ , and she laughs. _But think of it this way. It’s content. It’s finally reached its goal, and it’s gone through so many things before reaching the most beautiful moment of its life. Maybe death is a relief, or maybe it’s looking forward into going all the way back, returning to the beginning of the life cycle again. Maybe it’s finally happy._ She shrugs at that. _I don’t know. I wouldn’t know._

 

Nicky looks at the wilting flowers in the vase again, with its colours fading, becoming a reminiscence of what it used to be, or what it could have been. He turns to look at her, words on the tip of his tongue, but she’s already half way to the kitchen with their empty cups of tea.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“You know, I’ve never been to the sea before,” Erik suddenly says, eyes lifting from the book he’s reading.

 

“Hm?” Nicky, however, does not stop writing on his exercise book.

 

“Bärchen,” Erik calls, putting down his book and starts invading Nicky’s personal space. “Engel? Liebling? Schatz?”

 

“Stop,” Nicky pushes Erik’s face away. “You mean you haven’t been to a beach in America? Noted.”

 

Erik grabs the hand, grinning. “Take me?”

 

“You’re not being very subtle, are you?” Nicky asks, trying to keep a straight face, but it doesn’t work because Erik is suddenly starting a tickle fight, and it’s so childish that it makes Nicky laugh until his stomach and throat hurts.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Someday, maybe years down the road, Erik will leave him. Nicky might wake up to an empty bed and an empty apartment, the only things left are the framed photos of their time together placed delicately on the shelf, or on the mantelpiece. Or maybe it’ll be Nicky who will leave in the middle of the night, footsteps so soft that no one will find him again, moonlight and shadows extending their hands to help him disappear like a dream that was never real.

 

Maybe neither of them are real. Maybe none of this is supposed to be real.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Nicky stares at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. He supposes the mirror is supposed to be fogged up by now, but he’s been standing outside of the shower since he stepped out of it about ten minutes ago, so the mirror is starting to clear up.

 

He’s been in the bathroom for too long, because the water droplets on his skin are starting to dry, the tiles are cold against his feet for every new step he takes. He tears his eyes away from his own reflection, and puts on his clothes before he actually starts shivering. He dries his hair with a towel, and when he leaves, he doesn’t look at the mirror again.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Somehow they never end up fighting, and Nicky has a strong feeling that Erik’s been putting in way too much effort on his part to avoid conflicts. Erik’s too understanding – and although Nicky is grateful for that, there’s a spark of frustration and anger in him, worried about Erik’s health and his coping methods.

 

Erik rarely speaks his mind or feelings the way Nicky expresses himself. The amount of control he has in him is admirable, and it’s concerning. Nicky doesn’t believe in miracle cures, even though the leaves and stems are clipped in a very precise manner, the roots still have a hold on the soil.

 

And this is how Nicky finds Erik – in a vulnerable state, his brows furrowed, hands against forehead, glasses abandoned next to his elbow. He’s breathing rapidly, his back raising and deflating, and Nicky can almost feel the anxiety rolling off him in waves.

 

There are a lot of things Nicky isn’t good at, and calming down someone who’s having a panic attack might be one, since he never knows how to calm himself down. But he kneels down in front of Erik anyway, and takes one of his hands. Erik, surprisingly, lets him. And this is strange to Nicky since Nicky himself doesn’t like it when people touch him during his own panic attacks. He places Erik’s hand against his chest, and breathes in, and out.

 

The best he can breathe in and out anyway, since his breathing has become shallower ever since a weight was placed on his chest a few years ago.

 

In, and out. Slowly, shakily.

 

It’s always been Nicky that has these uncontrollable attacks, and seeing Erik like this – even though he’s mentioned he has one of these once or twice when he can’t handle it anymore – breaks his heart. It’s like seeing yourself in someone else, and you wonder if this is what it feels like for someone else when you’re the one having the panic attack. The guilt surges up and lodges itself at Nicky’s throat. He swallows it down.

 

This isn’t about him. This is about Erik.

 

He continues breathing, regulating his breathing as best as he could, something he doesn’t do for himself because it never works. He’s pretty sure Erik can feel the rapid heartbeat against his palm, which is the way he can hear his own heartbeat almost all the time.

 

To his surprise, Erik’s breathing starts to slow down as he imitates Nicky.

 

“Thank you,” Erik rasps, his voice cracking as he says that.

 

“It’s okay,” Nicky says, and wonders how long Erik’s been breathing like this, his heart pulsing this fast, without him noticing. He wonders how many nights he has stayed up late worrying about things that existed, exists and will exist. He wonders how many nights Erik had to tire himself out so he could sleep. But Erik pulls him into a hug, and that’s all that matters now.

 

“Stay with me,” he says, voice muffled against Nicky’s neck. “Please.”

 

“Didn’t plan on leaving,” Nicky replies, slowly, and in more than one way, he means it.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Nicky would say Erik’s lips tastes like a prayer, something holy, but his parents’ God isn’t his God, and there’s no need for prayers to an empty divine figure when his salvation comes in the form of a human being.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“I love you,” Erik says, his English perfect even though it’s time to sleep and both of them are huddled underneath the covers.

 

He’s soft, eyes fond as they lie in bed face to face. Nicky thinks he’ll never get used to seeing someone look at him like this, never get used to the soft and firm touches, never get used to the feeling of being loved.

 

And he wants to apologise, wants to tell Erik that he’s sorry the person he loves is a mess, wants to tell him that he’s sorry that the person he fell in love with could do better. But –

 

“I love you too,” Nicky chooses to say instead, pulling Erik’s hands up to a kiss. “Thank you for loving me.”

 

Erik smiles, and it’s the most beautiful thing Nicky has ever seen.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Graduation comes and goes, as soundless and soft as the exams that came before it. It starts with wide-eyed smiles and inside jokes, and ends with tear-filled smiles and more inside jokes. Achievements are listed, certificates handed out. Promises are made, whether they be empty ones or ones that are kept.

 

Nicky hasn’t stopped crying since the graduation ceremony started, and this time he’s prepared because he’s got an entire tissue box in his hand. Andrea takes his tissue box when Erik snakes an arm around Nicky’s waist to pull him close so Erik’s parents can take a photo of them together.

 

“I’m so proud of you, Nicky,” Erik doesn’t let go of him even when their photo has been taken. “I’m glad you’re here with us.”

 

Nicky is having a little difficulty breathing as he wraps his arms around Erik. But he grips onto the back of Erik’s shirt and lets out a small laugh. “Yeah.”

 

Because all those years Nicky has spent not wanting to be _here_ anymore, all those years Nicky has spent _knowing_ that he won’t make it to graduation because he might just commit suicide, all those years he spent with his demons in the same room – he can now look at those demons in the face and tell them, _I may never be strong enough to make any of you go away but at least now I can look at you in the face instead of just closing my eyes and hoping you’ll leave me alone._

 

All this time he has taught himself that there’s nothing to look forward to _because there’s no point being here_ , the thought of waking up every morning to Erik’s arm around his waist, and the thought of laughing and cuddling with his friends is enough.

 

It’s enough.

 

Erik is talking with his parents now, both of them took a day off work just to see their son and Nicky graduate. Yu is standing with Leon and his parents because their parents didn’t come, but they look incredibly happy about that, giving Nicky a small wave when they catch him watching them. Nicky then sees Andrea and is tempted to go get his tissue box back, but he notices she’s talking to one of the teachers, and he decides he can get it back afterwards.

 

Erik’s fingers are linked with Nicky’s, just barely, like it’s a blanket permission for Nicky to run off and leave him if he wanted to. But Nicky doesn’t, and he doesn’t feel the need to ever do that.

 

It’s not a complete happily ever after. Nicky still can’t control the feeling of guilt that’s always simmering in his stomach, can’t control the way he thinks and the way he feels. He will have fights with Erik and with his friends at some point, with his parents and with his cousins whom he has yet to meet. He will regret things that have already happened, things that have yet to happen, and he will relapse and will have more mental breakdowns and panic attacks. His first reaction to every situation will still be _I want to die_ –

 

– but once upon a time, he would have never thought of having a future.

 

And now, at this moment, he’s thinking in future tense.

 

 

* * *

 

 

They say goodbye to their friends, unsaid promises lingering on their lips, and the rest of their group walk off into the opposite direction. Nicky is well aware of the heavy silence looming between them as they make their way home, but he keeps his lips glued together, arranging and rearranging sentences and words in his head as he thought of possible scenarios that might occur if he said something. Logically, he knows they’re still going to be together even after graduation, but the anxiety of people leaving him because the thought of _he’s him_ still has a grip around his neck.

 

Nicky and Erik manage to get back home with neither of them mentioning how soon they themselves would say goodbye to each other, with Nicky boarding a plane back to the U.S. and leaving Erik and the life he has started to build in Germany behind. Perhaps it is because neither of them wants to let each other go, or perhaps it is merely because neither of them were good with parting words.

 

Nicky would leave soon. It’s going to be in a few days, and Erik can almost see it at the edge of the horizon, can hear its footsteps around the corner. They’ve known from the start – that all of this, the life they’ve made themselves – is all temporary, like fireworks and flowers in full bloom. It’s been a long dream, hazy around the edges and full of things they don’t remember, and the spell is going to be broken soon. They’re going to wake up, and Erik would find himself waking up in the bed he’s known for years and Nicky would be reaching out for someone who won’t be there to hold him together.

 

Erik reminds himself to bring it up at night before they fall asleep, but he backs off last minute, admiring how unaffected Nicky can look when something like this is going to happen, even though he’s probably the one who is affected the most. Instead he presses his lips against Nicky’s neck, kisses him all the same, loves him all the same. The wordless conversation always starts and ends with Erik tracing the knobs of Nicky’s spine as they fall asleep, and as they wake up.

 

It isn’t until the fourth morning that Nicky turns around from his usual cuddling position as the smaller spoon to press a sigh below the curve of Erik’s throat, and slowly detangles himself from Erik’s arms.

 

“What’s wrong?” Erik asks sleepily, pushing up to rest his weight on his elbow.

 

“You,” Nicky says, as he sits back down on the bed with his journal. “You’re being an idiot, and I thought I was the idiot out of us.”

 

“What?” Now Erik’s actually confused.

 

Nicky ignores him and flicks through several pages as Erik adjusts his position until he’s sitting upright. It doesn’t take long to find what he was searching for, and –

 

“Oh.”

 

Nicky’s full name is printed on them, along with the flight number and the time and date of the flight, but none of that matters when Erik finally sees what Nicky has been trying to show him.

 

They’re return tickets.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Erik is there waiting for him at the airport when Nicky exits. Time doesn’t exist, didn’t exist. Nothing has changed, yet something shifts, something like déjà vu, something far from that. Erik waves at him, and Nicky sees the sign he’s holding.

 

 _Nicky_ , it says, followed by a ridiculously drawn heart.

 

It’s so _sappy_ , but it brings tears to his eyes anyway, and he starts running, dropping all his pretense and his plan to play it cool. Erik laughs when he crashes into him, wrapping his arm around Nicky, keeping him close while he tries his best to keep their balance.

 

 _I love you_ , both of them don’t say.

 

“Come on,” Erik pats Nicky on the back. “Let’s go home. Mum and dad are waiting for us.”

 

Nicky lets go, a little dazed. Everything seems a little too unbelievable, even though he’s had a little over a year to accept that this is his life now.

_Home_. He likes the sound of that. He likes the sound of home, with all the positive connotations and none of the negative ones. He likes the sound of home, consisting of the soft blankets on his bed that he didn’t bother folding when he left, the couple mugs Erik’s parents got for them, and the wilting flowers on his desk. He likes the sound of home, because it belongs to a person who reminds him of a storm and the calm before it.

 

Erik takes Nicky’s suitcase, and Nicky takes Erik’s hand into his own.

 

“I’d like to take you to the sea sometime,” Nicky says, without looking at Erik, because Erik’s hand is warm against his, and that’s enough to remind him that he’s there. Instead, he looks at the exit just a few more steps ahead of them, and smiles brightly. “I think you’ll like it.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!  
> Tumblr @[arentwelost](http://arentwelost.tumblr.com)


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